Under a moonlit sky
by Princess-Arulmozhi
Summary: (courtesy Diane:-) Qui-Gon should never let cheeky Padawans help him dress and he should always read the background material!


**Title**: **Under a Moonlit Sky...  
****Author: Princess Arulmozhi  
****Category: Romance  
****Summary: (by Diane-) Qui-Gon should never let cheeky Padawans help him dress and he should always read the background material!  
****Rating: G  
****Feedback:Yes, please.  
****Disclaimer: The characters belong to George Lucas -except Princess Melinna A'dor and the Tekasthan citizens, who're mine- and I make no money out of this. **

**Author's Note: This piece belongs to the Jedi Apprentice timeline. A vignette, written in response to Diane's 'Qui-Gon Romance' Challenge on the JC forums.**

**Note 2: Sentences within '- ' indicate conversations via bond. **

**Under a moonlit sky...**

Luxury was a state of mind, in Obi-Wan Kenobi's experience. Jedi did not crave creature comforts - they existed to serve the galaxy and rid it of its innumerable evils - in return, they were satisfied with meditations on the Force, and to subsist on adequate rations and accommodations. That was the situation on most missions - and it was accepted without protest.

But sometimes, occasionally, a few fortunate Jedi were given a chance to experience a taste of what passed for life in the higher echelons of society - of beings who knew nothing of want and poverty, and existed on the softest silks, the most valuable of precious metals, extravagant food - and were coddled by other, lesser menials.

This particular mission, to Tekastha IV had been such a one. Sent to give protection to a particularly vulnerable First Minister on the eve of passing a bill, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had expected to meet with trouble. And their expectations were fulfilled in entirety. Guarding the Minister had involved innumerable pitfalls, with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon having to work separately most of the time. Eventually, it was accomplished, and the bill was passed successfully, without the Minister having to lose his life - entailing much joy and deep sighs of relief, for the leader was well-loved and respected, in spite of his rather unnerving methods of rule. For his part, Obi-Wan was grateful that they had accomplished what they set out to do with minor injuries - he had a graze on his forehead, and Qui-Gon had nicked an elbow - but that had been it. The enthusiastic people of Tekastha IV had decided unanimously that celebrations were in order - and the first of many extravagant feasts - to which gastronomic comfort the citizens were addicted to - was promptly dedicated to the _'Most illustrious Jedi Saviours'_.

For reasons unknown, banquets daunted Obi-Wan - especially those in which he and his master were the guests of honour. Battlefields did not hold many terrors for the twenty year old, and he thought, without being complacent, that he could hold his own during what he liked to call 'aggressive negotiations'. Feasts in which one simply milled around, dressed expensively, with no apparent aim other than to showcase oneself were seemingly beyond him. However, as Qui-Gon frequently emphasized, Jedi were required to maintain themselves with serenity no matter where they were - regardless of combat-zones or coal-cellars.

Thus, in his lavishly decorated dressing room, with furnishings fit for a king. Obi-Wan gave a deep sigh as he finished tucking in the shimmering folds of silk into his waist as per Tekasthan tradition, and adjusted an embroidered blue-green tunic that glittered with the Force alone knew how many precious gems, the soft _velteen_ cloth hanging from his shoulders with careless elegance. Feet shod in elegantly cut Ithian leather boots twisted to the left as he turned around once, checking to see if any part of the cloth was dragging along in an errant fashion - it was not. Satisfied with his appearance, he flicked a hand over his braid, threw a last breathless glance at the gilded full-length mirror in his room, and stepped out into the common area.

"Master?" he called out softly towards the room opposite his own, adjusting his cuffs. "We ought to leave in a few minutes - it's almost time."

Silence greeted him, and the apprentice flicked a worried glance at the chronometer attached to his wrist. -_Master? Are you ready_-

The answer took some time in coming. -_A minute, padawan_.-

_-It has been more than a minute, master. The most venerable Minister Blue-Face's guards will be rapping at our doors within a matter of seconds_.-

_-First Minister Tak'ardhar cannot help his complexion, impudent padawan mine. Besides_...- The master's voice trailed away.

_-Yes?_-

_-Draping is a most uncomfortable way of dressing_.-

Obi-Wan choked a chuckle. -_The Tekasthan culture is rich and diverse, master_.-

_-Then I wish they would not inflict it on us - their illustrious saviours_.- A sigh seemed to follow this melancholy statement. -_Obi-Wan - as a master, I hate to ask this_...-A question seemed to hang in mid-air.

Obi-Wan smiled, as he swiftly approached the door, and maneuvered the control panel. Walking in, he gasped. "What the..."

Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn stood in front of the mirror, rich crimson _velteen_ robes trailing around him, over a thick, embroidered tunic and lower garments of the same colour. An intricately woven silk scarf was thrown haphazardly over one arm, while his rich chestnut hair hung in neat, long waves, falling gracefully to his shoulders. His boots - of the same, soft Ithian leather as Obi-Wan's, appeared to be the only ones that had been worn with the least difficulty.

The apprentice took in the spectacle appreciatively. "An interesting colour scheme. However, it would appear that you're in something of a quandary, revered master mine." He said, with a wry grin.

Qui-Gon looked at the smiling reflection, unfazed. "So it would seem. This robe..." he fingered it in a puzzled manner. "...simply - ah - won't stay in place." He raised his eye-brows - noting, on an aside, that Obi-Wan had been given robes that threw the colour of his eyes into prominence - a striking combination. "Your lessons on cultural diversity just might come in useful, padawan mine."

"Would they, now," grinned the apprentice as he walked over to his master, careful not to step on the swirling robes. "Well?"

The Master drew himself to his full, impressive height, cumbersome robes not withstanding. "If you _will_ insist on laughing at your mentor-"

"I'm not," Obi-Wan chuckled as he knelt on the floor, gathering the _velteen_ cloth in his slender hands. "It's just..." He drew a deep breath, trying to control his mirth, as Qui-Gon frowned. "Hold this end, while I pleat the other..." He stuffed an end unceremoniously into Qui-Gon's hands, and the master sighed.

As the padawan folded and refolded the rich cloth, a niggling memory forced itself into his mind. Something about Tekasthan tradition...

"What is it?" asked Qui-Gon, watching, curiously, as his apprentice paused between rapid counts muttered under his breath.

Obi-Wan frowned. "Something I read, before we started on this mission..." he sighed."I remember thinking about it as a rather trifling detail - I suppose that's why I can't remember it, now."

"Let go, for the moment - it'll come back to you later" recommended the master, as Obi-Wan seemed inclined to pursue the thought. "Besides, I'm getting rather tired of standing about with crimson robes pooled around my feet. I like my freedom," he explained, as Obi-Wan resumed operations, grinning.

His briefings on the diversity of Tekasthan dressing stood him in good stead. Obi-Wan's fingers moved in a complicated dance (causing considerable astonishment to the master, had the apprentice known it), twisting, pleating, folding, and tucking at a fast rate. Within minutes, an untidy, swirling crimson mass had vanished - to be replaced by a supremely elegant robe flowing around Qui-Gon's waist, hanging over the shoulders - and rippling behind the master as he walked a few paces, testing it out.

"Not bad, considering," He placed the silk scarf on his shoulders, and threw an amused glance at Obi-Wan, who had flopped back on his elbows, exhausted, while his master paraded about the room. "An adequate performance, I think."

Obi-Wan sat up wrathfully. "_Adequate_..." By which time, his master had walked out of the room.

* * *

Obi-Wan smiled. 

Two standard hours earlier, though, he had not been much inclined to - as guests of honour, Tekasthan customs demanded from them an inordinate amount of polite smiles, bowing, introductions, and standard phrases that everyone but them appeared to be familiar with. It was enough to sap even a Jedi's apparently limitless energy, as the apprentice found out.

Tekastha IV had been a monarchy for centuries - until the decision to switch to democracy had been taken, a decade ago. The concept had still not lost its novelty to its citizens - neither had their reverence diminished for the Royal family, which, though relinquishing ruling powers, still maintained something of a hold - mostly benign - on the citizens.

The banquet was held in the sprawling gardens of the Tekasthan Royal Palace, that the guests might admire the radiant, fiery sunsets the planet was famed for. Among the most popular of the current generation of royals were Crown Prince Mudeb the III, who, along with his charming consort acted as host - and his equally charming young sister, Princess Melinna A'dor. The siblings were distinguished by their complexions - a sparkling orange, which easily differentiated them from the other, lesser humanoids, whose skins possessed a distinct blue tinge. Obi-Wan had learnt later that ancient legends had blessed royalty with their skin-colour - though it was equally likely that they were a species from another section of the planet, or offworld itself - though that theory, of course, was not popular.

Princess Melinna, in addition, possessed a strange and wonderful coiffure which seemingly consisted of copper strands piled in ever-intricate curls.Blessed with a trim figure, she was dressed with a quiet elegance which at once proclaimed her lineage, addressed all her guests with politeness, was all that was graceful to the Jedi - and had been instantly, wonderfully smitten by Master Jinn. Obi-Wan had first recognized the signs when she had, in the middle of a discussion of Coruscant Senate affairs, asked him about Qui-Gon's hair.

"Does he always wear it like that?" Her eyes followed the tall master as he bowed gracefully to the First Minister, his crimson robes trailing elegantly. "I believed the Jedi were weighed down by restrictions regarding apparel..." Her voice trailed away.

Obi-Wan looked at her cautiously. "My master has a reputation for being...unconventional."

"And the Jedi Council...allows this?"

Her voice had taken on a dreamy quality. Obi-Wan watched the play of emotions on her mobile face, and felt the beginnings of a smile tug at his lips. "Jedi who are as resourceful as my master..." he paused, to allow for the effect to sink in. "...are allowed - certain privileges." Another pause. "Regarding apparel."

"Oh?"

As she excused herself, Obi-Wan felt for their bond, ever open these days. -_Master, I doubt Princess Melinna's intentions_.-

Puzzlement, together with instant alertness sparked on the other end. -_I wasn't aware that she intended anything. Intentions regarding what-_

_-Whom, rather. I anticipate having to question her, soon. How broad-minded are the Tekasthan Royalty, do you think_? _Although, I confess I'm worried more about the Council's reaction_.-

_-I have no...the Council! Padawan, to what do these questions pertain, and why must you question Princess Melinna_-

_-I'm not entirely sure at this moment - but I may have to ask whether Princess Melinna's intentions towards you are...honourable_-

He felt a burst of astonishment, worry and chagrin. -_Brat, explain yourself_.-

Obi-Wan put a stop to their conversation and walked away, chuckling.

That had been two hours ago - and Her Royal Highness had not approached either of them in that duration. Obi-Wan had, however, been quick to notice that the Princess rarely let the master out of her sight. He himself had managed to avoid Qui-Gon, preferring to meander around the banquet table. His task had been made easier by the First Minister who had taken a liking to him since their first meeting, and who insisted on presenting every guest to him personally. Qui-Gon had been engaged like-wise by the Crown Prince - consequently, it was a considerably tired Master and apprentice who ran into each other by the banquet-table.

"Explain what you meant regarding the princess, padawan."

The apprentice was looking doubtfully at what appeared to be a smoking dish of bight blue soup. "Princess Melinna wished to know about your hair" he replied blandly. "So did a few of the Royal Maidens, if I remember right." He dipped a ladle into the liquid. "What _is_ this mysterious concoction?"

"_Ta'ankinah _soup - you should have known, since you claim to have read so much." came the absent reply. "_Why _does my hair excite so much attention? When did you become quite so perceptive about Royal Maidens? And what was all that about honourable intentions?"

"I'll answer the second question first: Age and perception do not go hand-in-hand, master," quoted Obi-Wan, earning an old-fashioned look from Qui-Gon. "The answer to the first is - you are rather..._striking_, to behold, after all."

Intense blue eyes looked down at him, faintly puzzled. "I am?" The master regarded Obi-Wan's twinkling eyes for a moment. "I don't think I'll relish an elaboration on that. My third question, padawan?"

"I believe you might find out, yourself." Obi-Wan was looking beyond the master, as he spoke.

Qui-Gon turned - to find Princess Melinna standing a few feet away from them. "Master Jinn?" She queried in soft, melodious tones. "I would wish for a moment's speech with you." She looked pointedly at Obi-Wan.

"Certainly, your Highness," replied the padawan. Casting a glance that possessed a wealth of meaning at his master, Obi-Wan bowed gracefully, and walked away.

Qui-Gon turned to the Princess. "Your Highness, I..."

"Come with me, please." She turned, walking away towards a sheltered garden path that would screen them effectively from other guests. Qui-Gon raised his eye-brows._ It would appear that Obi-Wan's..._

"Your Highness, if you wished to discuss affairs of state-" he began.

"Those are best left to my brother, and my father - not to mention First minister Tak'ardhar-" came the answer. Princess Melinna tipped her head, her copper curls glinting as she regarded the Master with glowing eyes. "The moon shines full tonight, does it not?"

The Master looked up at the heavens, briefly. "Tekastha has three moons, I believe."

Her eyes ran down his tall form, lingering on the shimmering crimson folds, the graceful fall of the garment, the waves of chestnut hair that clung to his shoulders - finally rising to meet azure blue eyes staring quizzically at her. "You are pleased to be flippant, master Jinn?"

"I was trying to be..." He drew in a deep breath as she approached him. "Accurate."

"On nights such as these..." She was close to him now - too close for comfort. "...what does one care if there're two moons, or four?"

"Your Highness, we-"

She kissed him. A brief image of fragrant _louria_ flowers, of cool morning breezes, of the famed Tekastha _Tonen_ Wine, rich and soothing...a hundred other delicate fragrances assailed his senses in a heady rush. Unrelenting...intoxicating. Her hands had crept up his shoulders; her slender fingers were now toying with his locks. His silk scarf slipped to the ground, unheeded.

"...cannot do this." He finished, pulling himself apart, not without a little difficulty.

Melinna looked at him, her eyes at once pleading, puzzled, her eyes dwelling once on his form. "Why not?" She whispered. "I feel for you what I have felt for no man, in my life. Why cannot we?"

"Because..." he stepped back another pace."It is not right, little one."

She looked at him, eyes ablaze with mortification and anger. "_Little_ one? I would remind you that I have completed eighteen cycles-"

"Which is little more than a youngling amongst my people," he spoke calmly. "My own apprentice is only twenty - and is as a son to me."

"Your apprentice...! He and I are not the same."

"As are you and I." He looked at her with something like pity. "You are a Princess, and have your destiny. And I...I am a Jedi. I always have, and always will be."

Her eyes suddenly sparkled, as though she had found the answer to a particularly difficult riddle, and she moved forward, again. "Ah, I see now. If _that_ is what you fear..."

"No. That is not what I feel, or fear." He looked at her keenly, as though willing her to see the reason. "Look into yourself, Your Highness-"

"Don't call me that. I have a name," She cut in, petulantly.

"...and search your heart. Tell me, if you can, about what prompted these...feelings."

She hesitated, her eyes towards the ground. "I...I have never seen anyone like you, before this." She glanced up at him uncertainly. "And what I felt when I saw you - I have felt for no one else."

He sighed. "But you _will _feel it, in the future. When you meet another, who is destined for you - and it will have more meaning." He went on, regardless of her protest. "You have never seen Jedi before now, my Lady - only tales of our prowess, our feats and powers. We are as new to you, as you are, to us. For the past week, you have seen us in action..." His voice trailed away. "And your imagination has been...stirred. Nothing more."

She stared at him, doubt in her beautiful eyes. "That cannot be."

"It is."

"But then why..." She sat down suddenly, on a stone bench that lined the avenue, burying her face in her hands. _We are as new to you, as you are, to us... _His voice echoed, in her head. _"Oh_..."

He approached her this time, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You possess a keen mind, my Lady. Think - and you will see the truth."

For a few moments - long moments that seemed to stretch into infinity - silence reigned. Insects chirped, and the night air tingled gently, with the sound of laughter and glasses clinking from the celebrations only a few feet away.

At the end of it, she raised her head, and looked at him with eyes now stained with tears. "I think..." She swallowed. "I think I understand." She stared sightlessly at the bushes ahead of her. "Madness," she spoke, briefly.

"Yes." The master's eyes were fixed on the twinkling lights of the Palace, a long way away.

She stood up, at that. "Thank you...and forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive."

She smiled then - a flash of sheer beauty lighting up the dark gardens. "You are a strange man, Master Jinn" she spoke softly. "But a kind one."

Qui-Gon bowed.

Her Royal Highness Melinna A'dor acknowledged the gesture and swept out of the avenue elegantly, vanishing out of his sight in a few moments.

* * *

The three moons of Tekastha IV showered down milky white rays onto the planet, bathing it in an ethereal beauty. 

Obi-Wan waited patiently, seated on one of the ornately carved stone benches that dotted the lush Royal Gardens - he had managed to find one that was secluded, yet without appearing as though he were distancing himself from the celebrations.

Qui-Gon approached the bench, and slowly sat down, stretching out his legs, ankles crossed. The night had grown cold, and he adjusted the crimson robes accordingly. Both were silent, for a few moments.

"I did not quite expect such...intensity" spoke Obi-Wan, finally. "I felt sorry for her."

Qui-Gon raised his eye-brows. "Would you rather I ...accepted?"

Obi-Wan bowed his head. "You could not have," he spoke gently, marveling anew at their companionship that allowed them to talk of such things - that allowed such things to be shared through their bond. "You truly did not feel...what she did for you."

"I saw her as a child. Precocious, intelligent, likeable - but nevertheless, a child."

"I know."

"Do you think..." the master turned towards the apprentice, a question in his eyes.

"No. I don't think you hurt her. She had to know. She is strong - I can already sense her beginning to recover. She is a Princess, after all - and one day, she will be queen."

A pause. "I am not incapable of love, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said softly.

The apprentice smiled, at that. "I'm well aware of that. Never think that I doubt you, master."

Master and apprentice edged closer unconsciously, as the temperature dropped further.

"Although, master," Obi-Wan spoke as he felt his hand gripped tightly in his master's own. "I wish I'd remembered that trivial fact about crimson robes, back at our quarters. I've no doubt First Minister Tak'ardhar thought he was doing you a service - and why Princess Melinna was so puzzled. I suppose she later understood that you knew nothing about it." He threw a demure glance as he felt Qui-Gon's questioning look. "Silk scarves are worn by many - but a combination of crimson robes and silk scarves, according to Tekasthan tradition, are only worn by those seeking...a relationship."

He broke into rich chuckles as he felt the master give an uncharacteristic groan.

"Brat. Incorrigible, impudent _brat_..."

THE END.


End file.
